


In Stock

by Shirokokuro



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, Good Parent Din Djarin, No spoilers post S01E08, POV Din Djarin, Slice of Life, cliches that've been done to death that I am gonna write again anyway, feat space cowboy and his smol wizard son, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirokokuro/pseuds/Shirokokuro
Summary: “No,” Din says, “I’m not buying that.”
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin
Comments: 46
Kudos: 323





	In Stock

**Author's Note:**

> Considering what I usually write, this little foray into The Mandalorian fandom should come as no surprise. _(:3」∠)_

“No,” Din says, “I’m not buying that.”

The kid cocks his head, feigning misunderstanding as he clutches the toy closer. It looks like the vendor stitched it together out of an old rag and whatever mismatched thread was lying around; one of the button eyes is loose.

The kid babbles and waves the stuffed bantha by its tail.

“Look, Din reasons, “we barely have enough for food and supplies, let alone fuel.” He gently plucks the toy out of the kid’s hands. He whines a bit when Din returns it to the vendor’s stand, the seller himself looking put-out by the lost sale.

“’e’s just eh kid. Let ‘im ‘ave some fun, 'eh?”

Din hopes his glare makes it through the helmet as he scoops the kid off the ground—little grabby hands and all—and turns away. He meant it when they said they don’t have much. He’d rather they both be fed. Besides, the kid moves on from it easily enough once they reach the meats, nose twitching at the skewered chunks as they roast and crackle in the dry night air.

“There we go,” Din says offhandedly while piling some cans into a shoulder bag. “Now we’ll have some actual food tonight. First time in a while, huh?”

Silence.

“Kid?”

The tyke’s not even paying attention, plopped on the ground at Din’s feet while shoes pass him by.

“Hey,” Din calls softly, holding up the bag. “I got us the good stuff.” The cans clink when he shakes it, even over the clamor of the market, but there’s no rejoicing. Not even movement.

Din watches the kid for a moment—the apt expression and twitching fingers like they want to grab for something out of reach—before tracing the boy’s sight.

“Mama!” It’s a girl on the other side of the street, maybe not much older than Winta was. Her left cheek is getting obliterated by slobbery massiff kisses. “I can really keep him?” she manages through her laughter.

Her mother says something, drowned out by the crowd.

“Oh, I will, Mama!" She scratches the reptile under the chin. "Thank you, Mama! Thank you! I promise I’ll take the best care of him!” What must be her brother claps her on the shoulder, his mouth moving to crack some joke that makes the whole family laugh. There's a happiness there that's foil to the everyday scum of the outer rim—to everything that's come to define Din's life until now. It's almost blinding by comparison.

The kid’s still as the family disappears into the throngs of people and the lantern light. Despite their brief presence, the market is lonely without them. Apathetic and pedestrian while merchants shout and machines whir.

A pair of brown eyes are cast up. “ _Patu,_ ” the kid laments. He fiddles with his tunic, ears down-turned. Din’s shoulders mirror them. He really shouldn’t do it, but the man’s already kneeling before he can stop himself.

“Come here,” he murmurs quietly, reclaiming the kid. “I…just remembered I have to buy something.”

* * *

The kid squeals. Din doesn’t get why he’s so obsessed with it, but that’s children for you. At least he’s getting his money’s worth.

“Just don’t lose it,” Din reasons as he punches the button to pull the landing ramp up.

Ignoring him, the tyke scrambles deeper into the hull of the ship, bantha toy dragging behind like it’s on its way to be quartered. Personally, Din wants to douse the thing in whatever cleaning supplies they have around here, but he’s also smart enough to wait until the kid’s asleep.

Din simply shakes his head and starts unloading their food into a closet. He’s probably going to regret skimping on ammo, but for now, he’ll have to make do.

Something bumps into the back of his leg.

Unfazed, Din keeps skimming an ingredients label. “Don’t tell me you lost it already,” he drawls as he stacks the container on top of the others. “I can’t buy you another one. Don’t even think they had more than—”

“Mama.”

Din’s head snaps down. The kid’s beaming up at him, arm span laughable by how he can barely hug half of Din’s calf.

“I… That’s not….”

The kid’s eyes close in a happy grin. “Mama,” he repeats.

Din stands there, usually pretty confident but right now plain out of his element. Eventually, he puts his head in his hands. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Close enough.”

Reaching around himself, the kid retrieves the toy and holds it up by a leg as if Din has yet to see it.

“That’s very nice,” he appraises (It’s a lie. The button eye’s already gone.) and hoists the kid up. The toddler keeps babbling nonsensically as he flaps the corrugated horns, moving them like wings, and he rests his head against Din’s shoulder.

“Uh-huh,” Din sighs while the kid prattles on. “Whatever makes you happy.”


End file.
